


Featherlight

by GoldenDaydreams



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Sensuality, Voyeurism, soft but sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29364666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: Oversensitive and still under the effects of potions, Geralt is able to watch and listen to his partner pleasuring himself in the next bed over.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 202





	Featherlight

The window sat open a crack for the night air to help cool the room down. The rain would come soon, Geralt felt it in his bad knee, and had seen the clouds rolling in when he’d returned to the town after a hunt. Jaskier walked barefoot and silent around the room as he readied for a performance at a tavern down the street by the light of a single candle. 

He brought over a cup of water, leaving it on the small table within Geralt’s reach. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Jaskier asked softly. 

Toxicity high, senses still all too sensitive, Geralt trembled at Jaskier’s voice alone. He’d run out of White Honey, and didn’t have the right supplies to make more. With no other option, he’d have to ride it out. Part of him wanted to keep Jaskier close, but the town was wealthy, and Jaskier would make good money performing tonight. It was wrong to keep him from his calling. 

“Go.”

Jaskier didn’t argue, he grabbed the key to the room and his lute on his way out. Geralt heard the lock click into place, and raised his hand to extinguish the candle. The room fell to darkness, but the Cat Potion didn’t stop him from being able to make out the shapes of everything in the room. 

The sound of the raindrops falling lulled him into a meditative state, easing the time passing as his body processed the potions he’d ingested. 

Footsteps in the hall pulled him from the state hours later. He felt moderately better, but knew it would be hours yet before everything had finally burned through his system. The key clicked when it slid into place, the lock turned. 

Geralt tensed, hand already on the hilt of a dagger he kept between the bed frame and the mattress in the event of a threat. 

“It’s me,” Jaskier whispered, always entering with such a statement after an unfortunate night that had left the bard a little bruised when Geralt had shoved him up against the wall, thinking he was an intruder. 

His fingers pulled away from the dagger, and back to his chest. He laid curled on his side, it felt moderately more comfortable since he’d been thrown into a cave wall hard enough that Jaskier had been shaken by one look at his back. 

Jaskier walked slow, a hand out. He touched the end of Geralt’s small cot used that to guide him to the second one only a few feet away. Geralt thought about lighting the candle, but considering his sensitive eyes he let Jaskier continue in the dark. The bard didn’t have much trouble, lute leaning against the end of the bed. 

Nimble fingers unbuttoned the doublet. While the Cat Potion stripped it of most colour, Geralt had seen it earlier in the day, bright yellow with bits of silver woven in. Expensive, he knew, since Jaskier hadn’t stopped talking about the price. Care was taken to feel out the nearby chair to drape it over the back to dry. 

A coin purse dropped heavily to the floor, and with one booted foot it was gently slid under. Not the best hiding spot, but at least he didn’t leave it on the table near the open window anymore. 

Boots came off next, tucked neatly away by his lute. Jaskier pushed a hand through his hair, and Geralt could tell it was heavier with the rain water. A couple of droplets trailed down the back of his neck absorbing into his chemise that was next to come off. It didn’t earn the same care the doublet had, and dropped to the floor.   
  
Geralt couldn’t help but follow the movement of Jaskier’s fingers which unlaced his trousers. He shimmed out of them the moment there was enough room, and Geralt licked his dry lips as Jaskier’s small clothes came off with his pants. 

Jaskier often slept naked in the summer. Geralt couldn’t fault him for it, too hot for all the finery that Jaskier always wore. Not to mention, Geralt also liked the feel of Jaskier’s skin against his own. Here, knowing just what the hunt would take, and how he’d be far too sensitive after, they’d taken the room at an inn away from the tavern, one with separate beds so he could recover with minimal stimuli. 

Looking across the space between them to where Jaskier finally laid down, not a stitch on him, Geralt almost regretted it. He had one arm bent, hand tucked under his head, the other on his chest, a pose often mirrored when he’d lay in the grass on one of their short breaks in travel. 

Over the rain, Geralt heard and unconsciously matched his breathing to Jaskier’s. His companion shifted, the slightest move of his hips, then hitched a leg up a little, trying to get comfortable. 

Cat maintained Geralt’s ability to see in the dark, to see the way Jaskier idly touched his chest, fingers skating down to his navel, then up to his collarbone, the path repeated. Geralt found it soothing to watch the repetitive pattern that came in time with their breathing. 

Jaskier’s pattern changed, fingers grazing lower, an easy caress of his inner thigh. On the second pass, his fingers pressed a little harder. 

Geralt was powerless to do anything but watch. He wondered if he should say something, make sure Jaskier knew he was being watched, but it was hardly out of the ordinary for Jaskier to take his own pleasure. Even before they were together, he’d quietly get off on the other side of the fire while Geralt faced the other direction, still able to hear the muffled moans. It wasn’t like Jaskier didn’t know what Geralt was capable of. He had, after all, asked all manner of questions to sate his curiosity. 

Breath went off beat, a gasped inhale when fingers grazed featherlight over his cock. 

There had been one night, seared into Geralt’s memory, in which Jaskier had spent hours building himself up, staring across the room at Geralt, pulling his hands away or gripping the base of his cock hard enough to keep himself from falling off the edge. _Hours_. Geralt wondered if it would be another night like that, of Jaskier touching himself, extending his pleasure until he was a whining, desperate mess. 

Jaskier’s legs spread, like he expected someone between them. Even with his body trembling and oversensitive, Geralt still had half the mind to join him. He didn’t move, ignoring the way his own body reacted to the sight. 

A stuttered exhale left Jaskier when he took himself in hand, his hips slowly thrusting. The sensual motion had Geralt’s hand clenching in the blankets, they were rough on his oversensitive skin. Jaskier would be soft, he was always so soft, skin probably still damp from the rain that had soaked through his clothes on the walk from the tavern to the inn. 

A hiss of breath, teeth pressed hard into his bottom lip. Chin tipped back, the line of his throat exposed and Geralt wanted to drag his tongue along the flesh, nip where Jaskier was oh so fragile and perfectly trusting. 

Jaskier’s free hand covered his mouth, but it did little to muffle the moan. His body trembled, his hand on his cock keeping a slow but steady rhythm, thumb sweeping over the head on every pass. Geralt couldn’t help but think of his own hand, slightly larger wrapped around Jaskier’s cock. He enjoyed the shift in balance between them in those moments, the way Jaskier trusted Geralt with his pleasure, the sounds he made, the way he’d drag Geralt to his lips only to be too overwhelmed to do much more than share breath. 

With the way that Jaskier sped up, Geralt knew that Jaskier wouldn’t be spending the night edging himself for hours. He was thankful, didn’t know how he’d be able to stay still, watching, listening to every little breath, the slick sounds of his cock in hand, the rasp of sheets when his foot slipped a little. 

More muffled sounds, and Geralt wished the effects of the potions had worn off. He wanted to pull that hand from Jaskier’s lips, demand to hear him at full volume. Another time. _Soon._

Jaskier’s toes curled in the sheets bunched at the end of the bed, his hand sped up and—

“Come,” Geralt demanded, still quiet, but clearly Jaskier heard him, shouting behind his hand that tightened it’s grip, his other hand quickening in the moment before release. The noise Jaskier made went high, then shifted to panting breaths. 

Jaskier’s hips settled back down on the bed, his body limp, sated. He turned toward Geralt, although he doubted the human’s vision allowed him to see anything in the room. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you awake,” he whispered. 

It had been a welcome distraction from the oversensitivity. “Go to sleep.” 

Jaskier didn’t even move to wipe himself off, and Geralt knew he’d have a fit about it in the morning, but his breath already slowed. He always was quick to sleep after getting off, usually only moving when seeking out Geralt. Even now, Jaskier’s arm moved, slow, seeking, only to find the edge of the bed. A little murmur of discontent before his hand found the edge of his own pillow to hold onto instead. 

How he loved this man. 

With Jaskier quiet, safe in their room, and smelling of happiness and release, Geralt was finally able to close his eyes and sleep. 


End file.
